


Moments of Transition

by helsinkibaby



Series: Novembers Past [2]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, POV Minor Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-03
Updated: 2002-02-03
Packaged: 2018-02-13 10:56:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2148099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in January 1999, Mrs Landingham and Ginger talk during the transition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moments of Transition

I never knew there was so much crap that went on between Election Day and Inauguration Day.

I mean, really, who did? I thought that you went out, you voted, someone won, someone lost, that the winner moved into the White House with the minimum of fuss and upheaval, that everything moved like clockwork, with everyone helping everyone else.

You can tell how much I knew about politics before I joined this circus, right?

Although maybe that's a good thing. Because if I had known what I was getting myself into, I think I might just have turned off that CNN special last April and tried to go to sleep. I would never have decided to join the campaign, I would never have left my house, my couch, my refuge.

I never would have met some of the most amazing people I've ever met in my life, including a man that I’m honoured to call my President. I probably would have lifted myself out of my depression at some point, but I don't know when. I wouldn't be living in Washington, looking for a new place, having finally bit the bullet and sold the house. I wouldn't be standing in the White House, just outside the Oval Office, helping Mrs Landingham get the Oval Office together, on the first day of President Bartlet's Administration.

I really shouldn't be here; after all, I'm a Communications Assistant. But Mrs Landingham insisted on commandeering some people to help her organise this place, and I was one of the lucky ones. I love Mrs Landingham; there's just something so comforting and reassuring about her. Even here, snowed under with papers and movers, with the President bellowing at her at every turn, she's totally calm, totally in control. I wish I had that kind of calm. That kind of self-assurance.

I jump slightly when she comes up to me. "Ginger dear, would you like to join me for lunch? The others are back, so we can head off now."

I'm not really hungry…my eating habits went kind of haywire last year, and they're still not fully back to normal. I'm better than I was, but I've developed the unfortunate habit of skipping meals, something that drove Mom nuts when I was home for Christmas. But I don't want to say no to Mrs Landingham, so I smile and tell her that I'd love to. The smile that she gives me in return makes me glad that I said yes. I expect us just to go down to the Mess, but she hands me my coat, slipping on hers as she talks. "Good. Because I know this lovely restaurant a few minutes away where we can escape this madhouse for an hour."

I throw a look at the door to the Oval Office. "Won't the President…"

She waves her hand, cutting me off. "That old gullywumpus can do without us for an hour dear. Besides, he's in with Mr McGarry, so they're not going to emerge for a good while yet."

I laugh at her lack of concern, and she tells Nancy that we're heading out, taking my hand in hers and steering me out the door.

She insists on driving, which is good, because I know that I'd never find the place that she's taking us on my own. It's a little Italian place, and they must bake their own bread, because the smell assaults me the minute I walk in the door and all of a sudden, I'm starving. We sit down and order, and we talk about the Inaugural Ball the night before, enjoying exchanging comments about the dresses that some of the women had on; then the food comes, and we talk about the President and the campaign, before talking more about the ball, laughing at Josh's appearance this morning, and his evident inability to hold his booze.

We're still laughing over that when Mrs Landingham takes a sip of her water and lays the glass down on the table. "What do your family think of all this?"

I take a deep breath, then a sip of my water glass, buying myself some time. In point of fact, when I told my parents and brothers what I was going to do, they thought I'd cracked up, finally gone mad in my grief. My mother was the first one that I told, and she tried to talk me out of it, having spent who knows how many hours over the previous few months trying to get me out and about. But she listened to me, and she was the one who helped me tell the rest of the family, sticking up for me when they said everything that she'd been saying hours earlier. She was also the one who helped me organise selling the house. It went on the market in November, after we won the election and Leo McGarry offered me a job in D.C, and we closed the deal just after Christmas, severing the final link with my old life with Alan.

"They were a little surprised," I tell her honestly. "But they see that I'm happy, and they're happy for me." Which they are. They told me that at Christmas, and Mom told me before that, when I rang her on Election Night.

"And you all had a nice Christmas?"

I swallow hard, concentrating on pushing my pasta around my plate. Nice might be overstating the matter a little. "It was good to see everyone again." It's a honest answer, and my voice is low, but I will not cry. I've cried too much over the last year, over the last month, and I didn't think I'd any more tears left, yet I can feel some more starting low in my throat all the same.

Mrs Landingham's voice is sympathetic, and she lays her hand on mine. "Was this your first Christmas without your husband?" My head flies up to meet her eyes, and she smiles at the surprise she sees there. "I hope you don't think I'm prying dear…but I saw the rings around your neck during the campaign, and when you came back after Christmas, you seemed preoccupied." She shrugs. "And I was wondering if you were all right."

I lay down my fork, my hand going to the rings around my neck, hidden by the high necked jumper that I'm wearing. "It wasn't the first Christmas," I surprise myself by saying. I hardly ever talk about Alan; in fact, only one person from the campaign knows anything about him. "He died in November…the anniversary was the day of the election."

"Was it sudden?"

I nod. "He was knocked down by a drunk driver. He pushed me out of the way."

Her hand tightens on mine. "Oh my dear…I am sorry."

"Yeah. Me too." I sigh. "I thought that this Christmas would be easier. I mean, last year was horrible." I actually think that part of what got me through last Christmas was the fact that I was still in shock. I was still thinking that he was away somewhere, that he was going to walk through the door any minute, that I could call him on the phone if I wanted to. And the family were walking on eggshells around me, even as I put on a brave face for the kids at our traditional family get-together. "But this year…" I sigh. "This year was worse."

I didn't realise how much being away from home, being distracted by the campaign trail and the polling numbers and the election had helped me. It got me out of myself, gave me a reason to get out of bed in the morning. And the first time that I'd been home was Christmas, and it was like I was back to where I was last Christmas, or last April. The Ginger who missed Alan so much that she could hardly think, could hardly breathe without it hurting. Who just wanted to curl up in a little ball until the pain went away. Being home for Christmas, with Mom fussing over me, and the boys being loud and the kids singing and talking about Santa, it was so normal, so much like my old life that it was just so apparent that something was missing. I'd look around for Alan, expecting him to be there, and I'd realise all over again that he wasn't.

Between that, and finalising the house sale, and other things, I went home for a rest and came back pretty much a basket case.

"It normally is." Mrs Landingham's voice draws me back to the present. "But it does get easier." She smiles. "I know you're probably sick of people telling you that, but it's true."

"My brother, Rick, asked me if he could talk to me," I tell her. "He took me out to the garden, away from everyone. And I thought he was going to give me the big speech about how he was proud of me for making a new life for myself. But he told me that he wanted to tell me…" I have to swallow hard before I can speak. "He told me that Deanna is pregnant. That he wanted to tell me on my own before they told the rest of the family because…" I can't continue.

"Because it could have been you making that announcement?" She's sharp as a tack, and I'm grateful for that right now.

I nod. "They got married the year after Alan and I did. And that's all I could think about, that it could have been us. Or that maybe we'd already have a baby by now. We hadn't talked about it, but he always used to tell me that he wanted kids…a little girl he'd say, with red hair…he would've been a great father." A single tear falls onto my plate with a plop, and I stop talking.

"Christmas hasn't been the same for me since I lost my boys." Mrs Landingham's voice is very far away.

"You have kids?"

"Just the two. Twin boys, Andrew and Simon. My husband wanted more too, but it didn't happen. I was just thankful that we were doubly blessed with the boys. They did everything together, even got identical SAT scores. And they went to medical school together, and then their lottery numbers came up together. And their father and I wanted them to get a deferment. We pleaded with them. But they wanted to go." She meets my eyes, and I see the same pain there that I've been living with for over a year now. "They were killed at Da Nang, on Christmas Eve, 1970. That was a horrible Christmas because, you know, we missed them, and it was only their father and me. And it wasn't like it is now, where the news is almost instant. It took a week for them to tell us. So of course, the next Christmas was doubly painful, because they weren't there, and it was the anniversary…"

"How old were they?"

"They were just twenty-one. Had their whole lives in front of them. And I didn't just lose my boys you know; I lost my dreams. I'd been looking forward to dancing at their weddings, to holding their children…I would have loved grandchildren. I remember when my sister told me that her daughter was pregnant; that would have been the first grandchild in the family, so it was pretty big news. And all I could think was why couldn't that have been one of my boys? And I wasn't looking forward to the baby being born, because I thought it was going to be painful. That it would hurt too much. But when that baby came along, and I looked down at him, and I held him, it wasn't painful at all. Instead I felt joy, I felt hope. Because that's what a baby is Ginger…God's way of reminding us that life goes on." She reaches over the table again and pats my hand. "You remember that."

I have to clear my throat. "I will."

She smiles at me, and looks down at her watch, starting when she sees the time. "Oh my goodness me, look at the hour." I follow her lead, and realise that our lunch hour is nearly up. "We'd better get back and see that that old coot hasn't killed anyone yet." I must look scared because she laughs. "Don't worry Ginger. It's just the transition…we'll all get through it intact."

And I smile what seems like my first genuine smile since Christmas. Because for the first time since then, I feel like I just might.


End file.
